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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26979622">Hiraeth</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ixalit/pseuds/ixalit'>ixalit</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Erotic Poetry, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, sort of??</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:01:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>895</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26979622</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ixalit/pseuds/ixalit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <h4>
  <strong>Hiraeth</strong>
</h4><p><em><strong>noun</strong></em> /ˈhɪraɨ̯θ/</p><p>[Welsh] A homesickness or nostalgia, an earnest longing or desire, or a sense of regret. The feeling of longing for a home that never was.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Hiraeth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I don't know what this is but I wrote it and it's kind of an extended poem/short fic with poetical language. Hope you enjoy it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Soft, red lips—beautiful, tender, familiar—pressing a line of sweet absolution across Bucky’s shoulder, the flesh one. Trailing down his arm with slow, deliberate kisses. He closes his eyes. </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> A small room in Brooklyn. Fading yellow wallpaper bathed in moonlight. A thin mattress, neighbors talking through the walls. Sticky summer air slipping through an open window, dancing with two naked bodies. A moment of pain, the sting of a new sensation, a new stretch, then— Blissful fullness, overpowering every other sense, making his body sing. Steve, above him, jaw slack, watching with rapt awe as he presses deeper inside.   </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Those lips—Steve’s lips—move to Bucky’s chest. The light scrape of teeth against his ribs, his sternum. He thinks it should tickle, thinks he should laugh. But it doesn’t tickle, one of the many things they took, and he doesn’t laugh. </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> A snowball fight, icy and exhilarating. Screams of delight all down the block. Lights still strung up, scraps of Christmas cheer. He and Steve bundled up tight, Mrs. Rogers’s knitting wrapped around their necks. Steve’s laughter, light as an angel’s, filling the air. Wide eyes and more of the angel’s sound as he pulls Steve into a snowdrift. Cold, wet snow down his back; warm air breathed against his cheek.  </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Steve’s mouth on his stomach. Unhurried, hot breath against his skin. Soft tongue exploring, mapping; carving its memory into contours of muscle. Leaving behind wet trails, raising goosebumps as they cool in the air.  </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> A dirty motel room, a creaky bed. Through the slit in the curtain, he sees red leaves blowing from the tree outside. Somewhere upstate—he can feel it in his bones. Somewhere just for them. Steve’s head on Bucky’s chest, asleep. Steady puffs of breath against Bucky’s skin; bony legs tangled with his. On the chair in the corner, a bag of apples; plump and red and perfect. </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Steve’s fingers at Bucky’s jeans, hesitation lasting only a moment. The flick of a thumb has the button undone, careful tugging at the zipper to separate the teeth. Steve’s palm pressing, firm, fingers dipping under the elastic of his briefs. More tugging, exposing his cock. </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> A movie theater, mostly empty. The screen flickers with Carole Lombard, Bucky’s favorite, but he’s in the last row, wrapped in darkness. Camouflaged but not secluded; thrilling. Steve’s hand, long thin fingers moving on Bucky’s dick while Bucky bites moans into his own knuckles. He’s watching the flickering light play on the angles Steve’s face—sharp, determined, a little wicked. Beautiful in ways Carole could never hope to be. </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Steve’s hand wrapping loosely around him, fingers thicker than before, callused. Feels like coming home, to a place just out of reach. An experimental stroke up, down, exposing the shiny pink head. Steve’s soft sigh, his happy hum, as his touch sends shivers up Bucky’s spine. </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
  <em> Desperate, sloppy kisses, Bucky’s hands fisted in sheets and blond hair. His body tangled with another—small—too fragile for the man who inhabits it. Fingers grasping, pressed into the vulnerable spaces between ribs. Steve’s mouth on his, warm and wet and assertive. Pushing into Bucky like it’s his mission to crawl inside, inhabit him. Maybe Bucky wants him to. Maybe Bucky wants to weld their souls together and live an eternity with Steve burned into his flesh.  </em></p>
</blockquote><p>Steve’s left hand resting on Bucky’s thigh, thumb stroking over soft hair and powerful muscle. That same hand sliding slowly up, around Bucky’s hip, never leaving his body. Fingertips brushing his hand, the flesh one—an offer of comfort, and Bucky grips tight. The ghost of a breath, hot, washing over Bucky’s cock. Makes him shudder, dig his teeth deep into his lip. Steve’s tongue, tender as he tastes Bucky, gently circles the tip. A salve to Bucky’s past, a blessing he doesn’t deserve. </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
  <em> Morning light streaming through the lone window, casting shadows on a crisp white bed. On that bed: Steve. Weak frame slouched against the wall while dark circles hang from his eyes, peering out blearily from under sweaty, unkempt hair. Bucky’s eyes blur and he tells himself it’s the chemicals (they always said he was too sensitive for this). Everything is too bright. Too clean.  </em></p>
</blockquote><p>“Buck?” </p><p>He opens his eyes.</p><p>Steve’s hand on his chest, face close, leaning over him (when did he move?). His forehead is creased. “You with me, Buck?” He looks different. Stronger. Tired. Scared.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
  <em>Scalpels. Drills. Salty sweat stinging his eyes, burning his wounds. Hoarse groans, like a caged animal. Dry throat, not built to scream this much. </em><br/>
<em>Knives. Guns. Blood spilling dark, like whiskey from a barrel; thick and sticky as it coats his hands. More screams, they belong to someone else. </em><br/>
<em>A chair. Cold metal against overheated flesh. Tight, unyielding cuffs; restraining him, controlling him, cradling him. Hard plastic guard in his mouth, muffling his screams. </em><br/>
<em> Repeatedly born from electricity. His chair, his hell, his home.  </em>
</p>
</blockquote><p>“Yeah. I’m with you.”</p><p>Steve isn’t convinced, that much is clear, but he lets it go. He hovers over Bucky and starts again, at his shoulder—left one this time. Kisses his devotion into the raised scars in steady, soothing rhythms. </p><p>Bucky stares at the ceiling. He tries to remember. He tries to forget. </p><p>He wants to let his hands roam Steve’s body freely; to caress, to cling, to love. But he can’t. He won't. He doesn’t dare.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you're here, I'm gonna trust that you're over 18 and tell you to GO VOTE!!!</p><p>Thank you for the kudos, comments, bookmarks, and <a href="https://ixalit.tumblr.com/post/631816534360293376/heres-a-stucky-fic-written-like-a-poem-on-ao3">shares</a>!</p><p>(Leave me a comment or come yell at me on tumblr <a href="https://ixalit.tumblr.com/post/643068614337069056/ixalits-stucky-masterlist-my-ao3-updated">@ixalit</a>) ❤️</p></blockquote></div></div>
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